Feast

Becky shivered in delight as Simon delicately slid his palm up her thigh. His fingers didn’t quite reach her panties, teasing her with their adjacency. He nuzzled at her neck and shoulder with his lips and she felt herself getting slick in anticipation. Absently, she glanced at the television staring at them from across the room.

She had no idea what they were watching; some kind of Japanese torture porn flick. It was subtitled, which she didn’t mind, though she was long since too drunk and horny to follow it. It was something about a man who was looking to find a girl to remarry, so he held fake auditions for a non-existent movie. The girl he liked turned out to be a sadistic murderer who killed the ever-loving shit out of people.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Mm-Hmm.” Becky murmured truthfully. Her head was spinning with wine and foreplay. Her palms caressed the firm muscles under his shirt. Horror wasn’t her thing, but the gory scenes were mostly just gross to her, like a sink filled with aging, dirty dishes.

“Is it too much?” Simon asked her, inclining his head toward the screen. She shook her head, smiling as the motion dizzily heightened her disequilibrium.

He glanced at the wine glasses on the coffee table. His was still mostly full. Hers was empty. Simon grinned, “Refill?”

“Sure,” she said, slurring enough to make herself laugh as her tongue tumbled over the monosyllabic hurdle.

“The wine’s alright?” he asked.

She nodded, breaking into a giggle as her world sloshed in yet another new direction, “Absolutely! It’s my favorite. Red.”

They laughed together. It was surprisingly comfortable with how little they knew about each other. A couple newly forged from a mutual dating app, they’d initially met up for coffee. Neither of them had an interest in brands and exalted in their own benign tastelessness. That ultra-expensive coffee harvested from cat poop may as well be instant coffee crystals.

As the afternoon turned into an evening, their joke turned its attention toward their drinks. She didn’t know a merlot from a shiraz. Wine tasted the same from a box or a bottle. It was a bit of humor she shared with her friends, as well, happily enduring playful slights at her penchant for cardbordeaux.

Simon laughed with her and then slipped away. Her reluctant hands sliding from his body, it was all Becky could do to let him go. She was long since ready for a tour of the bedroom, but didn’t want to come across as slutty. Patience, she told herself, he’s not going anywhere.

He pushed himself to his feet, looking steady. She smiled up at him, looking over her prospective lover. Simon wasn’t anything exceptional, but she found nothing overtly unattractive about the man. He wasn’t muscular, but he certainly wasn’t fat either; toned. He wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short. He wore glasses, but took them off unless he was driving or reading. Faded jeans and a black t-shirt; clean, but nothing for the eye to linger over. She found his averageness intriguing.

Why is he still wearing his shoes?! she wondered. She’d slipped off her heels the moment they were in his house. Becky didn’t mind getting dressed up, but it wasn’t for comfort. She loved how her ass and legs looked in heels, but once she’d gone home with someone, as far as she was concerned they’d served their purpose. She wanted as much for her little black dress, but urged herself, Patience!

Becky considered asking why Simon was still wearing his sneakers, but he was already gone. He moved smoothly enough that she was briefly suspicious whether he’d actually been drinking with her. You’re being paranoid, she chided herself, Why would he pretend to drink?

She looked to the television again. A fetching Asian woman in a leather apron was doing something absolutely terrible to her captive with a length of wire. It’s probably just the movie putting me on edge.

With that, she took action. She leaned back as far as the sofa would allow, then threw herself forward. Not quite enough momentum to stay standing, Becky half-fell, half-melted back down to her seat with a snort of laughter.

“You alright in there?” Simon called from the kitchen.

“I’m fine!” she called back, “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Just down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thanks!”

Becky hunched down, readying herself for another attempt at becoming upright and ambulatory. Idly, she thought she’d read somewhere that was how elephants got up. Roll and roll until there’s enough momentum to overcome their own mass.

“You need to get out of here,” said a tiny voice, out of nowhere, in a hushed tone, “Now!”

The woman startled and looked about quickly. Simon didn’t say anything about a roommate. All at once, she found the speaker.

Standing on the coffee table was a diminutive figure. Perhaps two inches tall, it was humanoid in most respects. It stood upright on two legs, though it had hands instead of feet. It was covered in a fine fur; a blend of black, brown, and gray, rather like a squirrel. It was naked, but she couldn’t identify a sex. Pointed tiny canines protruded from an underbitten jaw. Large ears, slightly pointed like a cat’s, were turned toward the kitchen. For a breath, then two, they simply regarded each other.

The creature broke the silence in a tiny voice, “Meet me in the bathroom if you want to live.”

Becky screamed, her eyes wide in horror. On reflex, she pushed away from the tiny, inhuman being. She succeeded only in shoving herself up the back of the couch, risking teetering over the side. The threat of falling froze her and the woman hovered there, panting heavily, unsure what to do but all her instincts shouting at her to do something.

Simon popped his head around the corner almost immediately. His tone sounded genuinely concerned, “You alright?”

She jerked her head in his direction automatically at the sound of his voice. Quickly, she looked back at the table, but the little creature was gone. Looking back to Simon, she tried to steady her breathing and told him, “Sorry. The movie scared me.”

His look of worry melted into an understanding smile, “Want me to switch it off?”

Becky shook her head. The vertigo of intoxication had gone from being a pleasant feeling of floating to a feeling of drunken vulnerability. Taking another breath, she managed a smile, “No, that’s alright. It’s only scary when I’m by myself.”

Settling herself back down, she patted the seat next to her and smiled coyly. Simon laughed at that and gestured back toward the kitchen with a long carving knife, “I’ll be just a second, then I’ll be right with you, ok?”

“Ok,” she agreed. She was feeling better, but she glanced at the table again uncertainly. She tried to will it away, but a knot of fear wouldn’t quite leave her stomach and she wondered if she were getting ready to vomit.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she decided, “Meet you back here in a couple minutes?”

“Absolutely!” he agreed, “Won’t be so startling with two of us.”

Simon smiled disarmingly and headed back to the kitchen. Becky pushed herself to her feet, carefully. She leaned over the armrest like an old man, then straightened with a thrust of her arms. She teetered and nearly fell, taking a stutter step to regain her balance. Sloshy memories of high school played across her mind’s eye and she raised her arms triumphantly in a gymnast’s salute.

Tugging her dress back into place, Becky plucked her smartphone up from the cushion she’d occupied and padded quietly toward the hall. Her bare feet whispered over thick carpet. From what she’d seen of the place, it was a study in beige. It was clean, organized, and adequately furnished. Simon’s home was an extension of himself; forgettably pleasant.

What was the knife for? she asked herself, stealing a glance toward the kitchen. From her angle, nothing could be seen but an archway and part of a black refrigerator. Is he chopping up limes for margaritas? Maybe making up a snack or something? Becky paused to listen for a pregnant moment. Apart from the movie’s sound effects, she couldn’t hear anyone chopping anything.

As she reached the bathroom, the leather apron the film’s killer wore got her thinking. Was Simon wearing latex gloves? I’ve met some people who work in food who wear them at home out of habit. Is he a chef or something? Becky’s stomach hitched nervously as it occurred to her how little she knew the man. She thought of her purse, her car keys nestled within, and remembered they were useless. He’d persuaded her that he drive them both and her growing lust had obliged her to accept.

Now she absently drew her thumb across the screen of her phone. She debated calling Trish, but her roommate would only laugh at her for getting cold feet at the last second. She could picture the lecture, Only you would go through all that work just to cockblock yourself!

Pushing aside her trepidation, she fumbled for the bathroom light. Once she’d succeeded in blinding herself under a set of harsh fluorescents, she closed the door and looked herself over in the mirror. Closer to twenty than thirty. Dark hair in a long pageboy cut framing pale skin. Subtle contouring accentuated the angles of her bone structure and minimized the roundness of her face.

Becky gave herself a sloshy smile. She liked her look. Thank you, YouTube!

Looking down at her chest, she contemplated taking off her bra. She pictured Simon coming back to find her C-cups perking, her nipples brushing against the thin fabric of her dress. Becky reached back to unhook when she heard the little voice again.

“Are you serious?! Put your tits away!”

Becky started to scream, but clapped her hands over her mouth. Inebriated and lusty as she was, some deeper instinct told her to keep quiet. Kitchen knives and latex gloves sprang back to mind. Perched on the bathroom sink, the little creature was frowning up at her, arms akimbo.

“We don’t have much time,” it said, “Take a seat on the crapper. Piss if you need to. Buy us some time.”

Never taking her eyes away from the little thing, Becky sidled toward the toilet and did as she was told. She dropped as she slid down her panties, landing harder than she meant to. A laugh escaped her lips, high and hysterical, and she stifled it as she had her screams, clamping down with both hands.

“What are…”

“I’m a pixie,” it interrupted, “My name is Blackberry.”

“A p-…”

“Yes, a pixie. I’m a lass, er, a girl if you couldn’t tell. We don’t have much time.”

“S-sorry?” Becky managed. Unconsciously, her urine began to stream in a rush. She smiled despite herself, feeling crazy, thinking, What goes in, must come out.

Aloud, she apologized to the pixie, “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”

“Stop apologizing and listen!” Blackberry spat. Becky squinted and looked close. The pixie had fear in her eyes and trembled, her little hands shaking. Keeping her voice steady, the pixie told her, “I’m the last one. I’m talking to you now because you’re the last chance for both of us.

“Pixies exist, obviously. We live in Clans. Among you humans. Understand?”

Becky wrinkled her nose, “Like in our houses?”

The pixie rolled her eyes, “No fucking shit in your houses. Most houses everywhere. We live on what your kind wastes. It’s essentially an unlimited supply of everything we need.”

She jerked a Lilliputian thumb toward the door, “This fucking guy moves in a few months ago. Not a single pixie came with him. Not. One.”

When the woman only stared blankly, Blackberry grudgingly elaborated, “That doesn’t happen. Clans move with their humans. We merge and form new Clans. Simon shows up with nobody. Nobody!”

Becky didn’t notice when she stopped peeing. She could only stare spellbound as the little creature ranted. All at once, there was a loud knock at the door.

“You alright in there?” called Simon.

The woman startled, but managed to keep her voice even enough, “Fine, thanks! Be out in a minute!”

“Okay dokey!” the man said cheerfully. She listened as he turned and walked away. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but she thought she heard a faint scratching like something lightly dragged against the door. It had been right at the height of the doorknob. She puzzled, then her eyes widened. Is he still walking around with that knife?!

Blackberry smiled approvingly, “You heard it. That’s good, but we don’t have much time.”

The little creature sighed and pressed on, “Listen. We sure as hell figured out where the pixies went. He ate them.”

Becky blinked, then again as she searched for words. The best she could manage was a thin, “W-what?”

“You heard me. I don’t know how he knows about us but the bastard started setting traps. In the basement. In the attic. In the walls.”

“Like mouse traps?”

“Fuck you!” the pixie spat, indignant, “You think I’m stupid enough for something like that? Good traps. We never saw it coming. When we panicked, he started to flush us out. He was ready, we weren’t. Now they’re gone. The whole Clan. It’s just me now and if you won’t listen to me we’ll be gone, too.”

“What?” Becky blinked, “You said he eats pixies.”

“Loves them,” Blackberry agreed, “but the greedy fucker ran out.”

The pixie slumped as if all the weight of the world pressed against her, “He ran out about two weeks ago. He got weird after that. He stopped with the traps, just pacing and muttering all hours. Some kind of psychopath. Couple days later, he gets an idea.”

The woman was putting it together, “He couldn’t get pixies, so he…”

“Escalated,” the pixie finished, “Good, you’re getting it. Yeah, last week he hooks up with a girl. Barbara. He’s got a dating app on his phone. She came back to the house and he feasted on her. You’re next.”

“That’s it, I’m calling the cops,” Becky fumbled with her phone, Blackberry carefully watching her hands as she made several attempts to tap in her security code. She pressed 9-1-1 and stopped abruptly, her finger hovering a hair’s breadth from the call icon. She could hear Simon pacing. She couldn’t hear the movie anymore.

She hissed a whisper, “I think he’s out there. He’s waiting for me?”

“No fucking shit he’s waiting,” Blackberry told her, “Probably thinks you’re spooked, maybe on to him. He doesn’t want you to leave. He won’t let you. I don’t think he’s eaten since he finished what he got from Barbara.”

“Jesus Christ!” Becky hissed through her teeth, “Ok, what do I do?”

“You run,” the pixie said, “I’ll help you.”

The woman cocked her head, incredulous, “What are you going to do?”

“I can sit and tell you about the lion and the mouse or you can get the fuck out of here and live, if you’re lucky. Pick me up at the mailbox, alright?”

“Alright,” she agreed.

“Swear it.”

“What?”

“Swear. It. Give me your oath that you’ll pick me up.”

“O-ok,” Becky stammered, “I, uhm, swear…”

The pixie nodded, dead serious, “And I give you my oath that I will help your escape, even if it means risking myself.”

With that, the tiny being extended her little hand. Becky blinked, then slowly, carefully held out the tip of her pinky. They touched, the woman doing her best not to flinch away as she would at the feel of a mouse or a bug crawling across her skin.

All at once, the pixie vanished. No, Becky told herself, looking closely, she’s camouflaged! Forcing herself to believe what she was seeing, the woman watched as an indistinct blur leapt from the counter to the bathroom floor. Like a chameleon, the pixie matched her surroundings perfectly. Even as she moved, the little creature was little more than a slight distortion, changing to match her surroundings almost instantly as she ran along on all fours. In seconds, Blackberry had scurried under the bathroom door.

That was real, Becky told herself, It had to be. It’s real and I need to go!

With that, the woman unsteadily got to her feet. The world reeled with alcohol and fear. She tried not to hurry, counting to ten while she washed her hands. As she reached for a towel, she realized she hadn’t flushed and her panties were still around her knees.

“God damn it!” she muttered, pushing the little silver lever on the toilet and arranging herself. She considered washing her hands again, but hesitated as she reached for the faucet. What am I fucking doing?! Becky took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door.

The hallway was empty and she stepped out, trying to look unperturbed as she tried to remember where her purse was. She startled and bit back a scream when she found Simon standing in his living room, a glass of wine in each hand. He smiled and held out a glass.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Becky lied. Blearily, she tried to estimate how many steps to get to the door. She thought of the contents of her purse, considering. My ID’s in there. If this isn’t some crazy dream, I don’t want him showing up at my place.

Simon held out her wine, “Bottoms up?”

The girl looked desperately at her purse, tossed lazily onto the seat of a burgundy recliner, “I…I’m not feeling good. I think maybe I should get going.”

The man’s face twitched and for a moment it twisted with frustrated rage. Then Simon smiled, his mask in place again. When he spoke, he couldn’t quite smooth out the tension in his voice, “One more for the road? What do you say? I can call you a ride. You might feel better if you sit for a bit.”

Becky glanced around, thinking. The television was off. All the curtains were drawn. It was dimmer than when she’d gone to the bathroom, the only light coming from a single lamp in the corner. She looked back to the wine. Ancient memories of cartoon witches offering poisoned apples to unwary girls played across her mind’s eye.

“N-no thanks,” she stammered. Her neck and shoulders were knotted with tension and she rolled her head gently from side to side to ease it, “I can call myself. I’m just going to get going. This was fun.”

Becky took one step toward her purse and Simon splashed both glasses of wine in her face. She gasped and closed her eyes, hearing the glasses shatter against the floor and suddenly his hands were gripping her biceps. Blinking through the stinging alcohol, tears streaming down her cheeks, she could see Simon’s mask had slipped away again. His lips were drawn back from his teeth and his eyes were wide and wild. He pulled in close and she could still smell the coffee on his breath. Still coffee?! So stupid! the thoughts came in a rush, Here I am turnt and I don’t think he’s had more than a sip all night!

“But we’re having such a lovely time, Becky!” Simon was shouting now, flecks of spittle joining the wine and tears on her face.

The girl struggled, but his fingers felt like stone as they pinched painfully into her arms, “Let me go! You’re hurting me!”

Simon ignored her pleas, trying to pull her in closer as she struggled, “I heard you talking to someone in there, Becky! A little birdy tell you some stories?”

The man was visibly salivating now, “I thought they were all gone, but I guess you found a couple morsels yourself? Tell me how many you saw and I’ll let go…”

Becky stiffened in his grip. Holy shit! He does know! Aloud, she shouted in his face, “Fuck you!”

With that, she drove a knee toward his crotch. She was off balance and far too slow, her drunken reflexes telegraphing everything in advance. Simon turned, putting a thigh in the way of his manhood. Her sharp knee made him shout in pain anyway as it connected. His fingers loosened only a little, but she heaved and pushed herself away and got loose.

Becky stagger stepped backward, crashing up against a wall. She hit hard enough that a picture frame fell and shattered. Flat shards of glass joined the curled teeth of the shattered wine glasses on the floor. She curled her toes as if she could retract them into her feet. Fuck! My fucking shoes!

Accepting what had to happen, Becky rushed for the front door. She screamed as the glass knifed the bottoms of her bare feet, but kept her eyes on the lock. She fumbled the deadbolt, turned the catch in the doorknob, and hauled the door open.

The girl rushed through the doorway, limping as quickly as her lacerated feet would allow. She stepped out onto the threshold of Simon’s home just as a heavy hand clapped over her mouth and pulled her back. She nearly lost her balance before her head came to rest on his chest.

She felt a punch in her lower back. Did he just kidney punch me?! He knows karate too?! Then, she felt a burning where he’d punched. She felt him draw his hand back and distinctly felt something slide out of her body.

Becky threw herself sideways, spinning like a running back to get out of his grip. She managed to reverse herself, staggering backward until she stepped out onto the open air past his front stoop and fell hard. She landed on her right elbow and was sure she felt something give way, but that was nothing compared to her back. As she hit the ground, the burning sensation spiked in intensity, the pain driving out any rational thought.

Simon stood at the threshold. In his hand, he held the carving knife. It was covered with blood and then some, the gore running down the handle and onto his fist. He’s still wearing those fucking gloves! Vaguely, she noticed his belt was hanging loosely. Must have had it tucked behind him. Wrecked his belt pulling it on me. Wait! Oh god, oh god! That fucker stabbed me!

Simon smiled, breathing hard, “Come on, Becky! Don’t be such a bitch. I haven’t eaten a bite in days!”

With that, he stepped out, and then paused, his eyes growing wide in surprise. He looked down at his feet, then howled in agony. Drunk and weakening quickly, Becky couldn’t understand what was happening until Simon dropped onto his bottom, set down the knife, and started worrying at the bottom of his left shoe. He hissed and whistled through clenched teeth as he caught at something with his fingernails and pulled.

It was a long, thick nail. It had absolutely no business being there on his front stoop, but there it was. What’s more, something had been holding it point upward, exactly where the man was stepping. He held the nail up to inspect it in the dim light cast from his open front door, then snarled as he threw it aside.

“Mother fucking pixies!” he shouted, then began hauling himself to his feet. It was difficult work, the man keeping his knife in hand as he crawled up the doorframe, relying on his free hand and his good foot to keep him steady.

Becky was shoving herself backward with her heels, making agonizingly slow progress down the driveway. She supported herself with her left arm, her right trailing along at her side. She’d just reached the front wheel of his black van when she stopped to look for help. She was accustomed to living in town, neighbors all around. She groaned, remembering the drive out to his place. It wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, but the last house she’d seen on the drive in had to have been at least a mile away.

Of course he drives a van! she thought, feeling her focus drifting, What psycho cannibal wouldn’t drive a fucking van! Ah, my back!

Becky wanted to stop and get a feel for her wound. Pausing in the shadow of the van, she tried to reach back, but found she couldn’t. Her right elbow wouldn’t respond, but to her surprise she didn’t feel a thing. Is it broken? Shit! I’ve never broken a bone. Shouldn’t it hurt?! Am I in shock?!

Simon was upright, breathing heavy as he leaned against the front doorframe. He glared at the girl and pushed off of his house. He nearly fell as he tried to put weight on his left foot, hopping awkwardly to rest against the siding.

“Becky, stop!”

She ignored him, crying out in agony as she twisted around so that she was on her knees. She reached up to grab the passenger side mirror with her left hand and dragged herself upward. The bottoms of her feet burned, slick with blood, but she fought through the pain until she was upright. Her dress was plastered against her body on her lower right side where he’d stabbed her and she could feel something hot trickling down to her thigh.

Moaning and crying with the piercing pain of each step, Becky handed herself along the side of the van. She could hear Simon behind her and risked a look over her shoulder. He was limping along, heavily favoring his left foot and putting almost all his weight on his right. He held the knife carefully away from his body so as not to accidentally stab himself as he lurched after her.

The girl turned to face the end of the driveway. She knew it wasn’t long, but as she was it may as well have been a mile. She distinctly heard her footsteps making a squelching noise as she plodded forward, doing her best to keep her lead in their race of cripples.

Becky was halfway to the end when she heard the click of the van’s doors unlocking. She spared a glance to see Simon throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He’s going to run me over! Oh God! Oh Jesus! Come on, Becky. Don’t stop! You can make it!

Miraculously, nothing happened. The driver side door still open, she could hear the man cursing and banging on the steering wheel. The van was dead, no lights, no little bells dinging to remind him to buckle up; nothing. The girl thought of the pixie’s oath and smiled through her pain. Blackberry! Oh, thank you, you weird little monkey!

The mailbox drew ever closer and the girl couldn’t wait to open it and thank the pixie. How the hell could she have done it?! She must have worked on the van before she even talked to me. The little thingy must have been busting ass the moment he got me in the door.

Behind her, the van door slammed shut and she could hear Simon handing himself along the side of it, as she had done. Her breath coming in heavy gasps, Becky held out her left hand for the mailbox. Her right arm dangled useless at her side. She imagined how it would feel to have something to lean on again, if only for a moment. Then, almost within reach of it, the girl’s ankle rolled under her and she fell.

Becky groaned as she came down hard on her knees, too winded to scream. She caught herself with her left hand, feeling her wrist as it strained until she was sure it was sprained, if not fractured. She tried to crawl, but the pain was too much. Letting herself fall forward, the girl dragged herself on her stomach, inching toward the wooden post of the mailbox. She could feel the blood welling up from her back, tickling her sides as it rolled down toward her belly. Behind her, she could hear Simon grunting and cursing, grunting and cursing as he limped along, slowly closing the distance between them.

It’s not far, Becky, she told herself, It’s not far at all. You’re going to pull yourself up somehow and you’re going to keep going. He hasn’t caught up and you’re going to keep moving and he won’t catch up. Blackberry will slow him down somehow. She promised. You’re almost there! Keep pulling. You’re…

* * *

The mailbox creaked open and the pixie looked out into the night. There was nothing standing in front of the mouth of her little metal cave. She could hear the heavy breaths of a human. Above her, she heard a hissing, scraping sound of clothing against metal and felt the mailbox shift slightly under the body weight of a giant.

“Becky?” Blackberry called, “I’m in here. Let’s go! Hurry now!”

She waited a breath, then two. Everything was still. The only sound was that heavy, labored breathing, the heavy tide of massive, human lungs echoing in her little chamber.

Suddenly, quick as a snake a hand darted into the mailbox. It snatched blindly and the pixie screamed at the suddenness of it. In a moment, she was gripped in a giant fist and hauled out into the moonlight.

There was Simon, smiling down at his prize. Blackberry heaved and drummed her fists against his hands, but she may as well have been punching a mountain. Looking about wildly, she spied the girl on the ground below.

Becky wasn’t moving. She wasn’t breathing. Blood was pooled all around her. She’d been reaching for the mailbox when she died, the tips of her fingers just touching the post.

Simon raised the pixie to his face, ignoring it when she resorted to nipping at his hand. He held her under his nose, inhaling deeply as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He wiped at his mouth with his other hand, careful not to pierce his cheek with the blade, swapping his drool with the drying blood on his sleeve.

“I thought I’d gotten all of you weeks ago,” he told the pixie, “I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance.”

Simon gestured toward the body of the girl with his knife, “The meat’s alright, but it’s not the same thing. Quantity isn’t quality, you know.”

“Please,” Blackberry begged, “Don’t do this! Let me go and I’ll do anything you want. I’ll…I’ll get you more pixies! Huh? You can have as much as you want, just please, let me go!”

The man looked down at the pixie for a long moment, then he began to laugh, “Thanks, little buddy, but I think I can manage on my own.”

He looked down at Becky’s corpse and tsked, “Going to take me all night to get the place picked up, especially with this fucked up foot. I’m so goddamn hungry, too! You know I haven’t eaten a thing in three days, right? Ah well, there’s time for a quick bite.”

With that, Simon raised the pixie to his lips. Blackberry screamed and thrashed, but the man only opened his mouth wide and put her head between his molars. With relish, he bit down on her head carefully, applying increasing pressure until her skull cracked.

“Mmm!” he groaned, feeling the pixie’s juices squirt into his mouth. Shoving the little body in whole, he chewed reverently. He savored every nuance, even the bones as they crunched and snapped.

All too soon, he made a last swallow and the pixie was gone. His appetite whetted, Simon got on his knees. The pain in his foot seemed far away, a thin whine drowned in the roar of his hunger. Flipping the knife underhand, he cut away Becky’s little black dress and looked over the pale, smooth skin of her bloody back.

Simon considered for a time, then cut loose a filet from her shoulder. He raised the meat to his lips. He tore her flesh with his teeth. Long into the night, he feasted.